


What Atlas Needs

by TheBarghestsNotebook



Series: A Man Called Atlas [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-11
Updated: 2018-02-11
Packaged: 2019-03-16 17:32:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13641099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBarghestsNotebook/pseuds/TheBarghestsNotebook
Summary: What is a human to a god? The Reader muses about who they are to the great Captain America. But it's not who they are to Captain America that matters. It's who they are to Steve Rogers.





	What Atlas Needs

**Author's Note:**

> I needed something nice.

Who were we, really? 

Two people bound by this created notion of what protecting liberty means. Two people bound by our love for those who resided within the nation we called home. Two people bound so strongly by our morals that we could never dare back down from a fight. Two people who really did root for the little guy. And we were so very different.

He was...him. The first Avenger, the greatest soldier, the man who was the American dream. The man who would fight his own country for true justice. The man who looked death in the face and told it to move. The unstoppable force that the enemies feared. The unmovable object that we all hide behind. He was the rock, he was the hard place, and he was the softness between all of it. The good old American smile and a heart of gold surrounded by muscle and invisible scars.

I was nothing like him, I could only ever hope to be.

But maybe that’s why we were like this.

Maybe that’s why we could stay like this.

I wasn't what he saw every day. I wasn’t someone he had to see get hurt while on the job. I wasn’t someone he had to fear losing because I had to disappear for days or weeks on end. I wasn’t someone who reminded him of what his jobs were. I wasn’t someone who lived so spectacular that my face would find its way onto the front cover of every magazine. I wasn’t someone who put on a mask to save the world.

I was home, waiting for him. And that was good.

It was the knowledge that when he came home from a mission in the dead of night I would be asleep in our bed. He could try to sneak under the covers to not wake me up, but fail when he could never stop himself from pulling me close and kissing my forehead.

It was the quiet that I provided.

The quiet that he needed.

The reminder that the world wasn’t always so...loud.

 

And it was that reminder that he needed the night he stood in the doorway to our room. The night clock read 3:52am. The night he couldn’t seem to make his feet walk any further. The night I opened my heavy eyelids to see him standing there. The night we watched each other in the darkness. The night I raised my hand to silently ask him to come to bed. The night I watched Captain America think he could get into bed after having forgotten to change. It was that night, that cold night, where I helped him out of his clothes, helped him brush his teeth, and helped him into bed.

We held each other that night, for far longer than we had intended to.

4:47am.

Wet cheeks, a trembling lip, words that crashed against his closed mouth.

I held him close and let him know that he didn’t have to say anything. He didn’t have to do anything until he was ready.

Because I was his calm.

I was his quiet.

I was the patience the world never gave him.


End file.
